Chapter 18
Christian didn’t quite expect the sight that greeted him as he entered the cabin—should have, perhaps, but didn’t. Yet, it didn’t surprise him either. It did make his gut turn to see Jessie curled so familiarly beside her cousin upon the floor.
God’s teeth, at least she was still wearing her cloak, he told himself, though it had ridden up her leg along with her gown, exposing her for God’s and just about anyone’s eyes. He strode purposely toward them, muttering curses as he stooped to cover her with her cloak.
Unable to sleep, he’d come several times during the night; each time he’d found her awake, holding her damnable cousin’s hand, or gently sponging Jean Paul’s brow.
And so he’d remained hidden in the shadows, observing unheeded, not trusting himself to remain in the same room with her.
After a while, he’d not been able to bear even that, and he’d withdrawn to the solitude of his own cabin.
Now he had to wonder over the wisdom of his decision.
It was obvious the woman was a dim-witted fool to be lying so near a half-nude, half-conscious man—cousin or not!
What the devil was wrong with her? Didn’t she realize what she could do to a man with aught more than her presence?
Christian might have been dead as a doornail and would have still scented her beside him; hers was a siren’s perfume that called to his senses more keenly than he cared to admit.
God’s bones, she’d nursed her cousin so tenderly that he’d found himself wishing it were him lying there wounded instead... with her soft hand stroking his so lovingly. What ailed him that he would crave her touch so interminably? Even to such a degree?
Why had he felt compelled to seek her out last night, when somewhere within, he had to have known she couldn’t help him?
Because he’d needed her.
The admission tormented him.
Stirring at last, Jean Paul groaned, and Christian turned as his father opened weary blue eyes to the morning light.
Behind him, Jessie roused at once; he was painfully aware of her every move, every gesture and sound. She hurried to Jean Paul’s side, ignoring him—or perhaps she did not see him—turning the full impact of her stunning emerald gaze upon his father instead.
“Mon Dieu... un ange,” Jean Paul murmured weakly. He blinked at Jessie, his eyes glassy with fever. “I am gone to heaven, ma petite cherie, yes?”
“You’ve been ill,” Jessie whispered, smiling sweetly down at him. She touched his brow and Christian shuddered. He found himself envying his father, as well; he couldn’t help himself.
“I thought you were on your deathbed, old man.”
Jean Paul turned to face him. “I’m much too stubborn to die, you realize.”
Christian flashed him a grin.
“Who is this divine ange, Hawk?”
Jean Paul seized Jessie’s hand, squeezing it. She snatched it away at once, so startled was she by the name he’d spoken.
Christian stiffened.
As she turned slowly toward him, he saw that her expression was one of shock and horror, and he braced himself for her anger.
“Nay!” she whispered, her face twisting. “It cannot be!”
Her gaze reverted to Jean Paul. Jean Paul wore a guarded expression now, his eyes shifting uneasily from her to Christian and then to Ben, who was now awake, watching.
Jessie met Ben’s gaze then, her eyes searching his face for confirmation.
And then her eyes narrowed as her gaze returned to Christian. She glared at him.
“What did you call him?” she asked Jean Paul, though her gaze never wavered from Christian’s.
“Not a bloody damned thing!” Christian thundered. Shoving away from the doorframe, he eyed Jean Paul wrathfully.
Jessie stood. “Well! No need to repeat yourself, sirrah,” she said with a glower for Jean Paul.
“I believe I heard well enough the first time!” Her gaze met Christian’s.
“Hawk!” she spat, as though the word were an oath.
“I cannot believe I have been so dull-witted!” She spun about, going to the port window to gaze out into the harbor.
“Good God, I should have known!” she whispered furiously, casting a wounded glance back at them.
For a long instant she was silent, and Christian hung his head back and closed his eyes.
She turned to the window.
Before her, the ocean was a blanket of molten silver beneath the cloudy heavens; Charlestown no more than a blur on the misty horizon—as were her emotions, for she couldn’t seem to feel them. “And Ben?” Jessie asked. “How long have you known?”
“From the first. I’m not sorry for it, coz.”
For a long moment, Jessie couldn’t bring herself to face them, much less respond to Ben’s confession. How well she understood, for she herself had tried in vain to feel regret for all that had passed between her and Christian.
Hawk.
The loathsome appellation twisted her heart, filled her with confusion and anger.
Fear.
Another lie.
She shook her head, the ache in her heart growing tangible now. How very, very, very stupid she’d been. She let her forehead strike against the pane and gave a wounded little laugh. She spun to face them abruptly.
“Of course you wouldn’t be, Ben,” she yielded bitterly. “He has a certain cunning about him, does he not?” She eyed Christian coldly. “The ability to twist a person’s mind until that person sees him as all that is noble and good!”
She laughed derisively, though it was directed more at herself—for her stupidity and blind devotion.
She gave a small cry of despair and said, “What a travesty of a man you are, Hawk! I—” Her voice broke.
“God help me—I despise you!” Herself, as well!
What an undeniable fool she was, for even now she wanted to fling herself into his arms, beg him to love her.
God’s truth, if he only halfheartedly denied everything, she would believe in him even now.
.. because fool that she was, she wanted to trust in him still. .. wanted to love him still.
She couldn’t help herself.
Christian’s eyes glittered cruelly, piercing her heart.
Her brows collided, the ache in her heart nearly strangling her.
“Amos was right,” she spat, wanting to hurt him as he’d hurt her, “you are the lowest of low! A filthy, rotten scoundrel!” Blinded by unwanted tears, Jessie bolted past him, wrapping her cloak more securely about her as she fled the cabin.
He caught her in the corridor, seizing her by the arm and wrenching her about, dragging her in the opposite direction from which she’d intended to go. “Release me!” she demanded, struggling against him.
“I don’t think so, my love; you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
“Unhand me!” she insisted, struggling in vain against his merciless grip.
Kicking open the door at the end of the passage, he dragged her within his cabin.
To Jessie’s shock, this room was immense, disorienting her momentarily.
Beautifully furnished, it came complete with window dressings and exquisite paintings.
The curtains were drawn over what appeared to be an enormous window, keeping all trace of sunlight from the room and leaving them bathed in shadows.
The bed itself was a massive canopied platform, ornately carved with beautiful rice blooms and steps beside it.
Dark blue silks, nearly black, cascaded from the canopy, fluttering wildly as he slammed the door behind them.
His face a mask of fury, he led her toward the monstrous bed, thrusting her down; the mattress was soft, cushioning her fall.
She settled deep within it, parting her lips for a scream.
He held his hand up abruptly, silencing her, for she thought he meant to strike her.
He didn’t; he merely stood, glaring instead.
“Damn you,” he warned, “I don’t want to hear another bloody word from you!
” Towering over her as he was, he suddenly appeared nothing like the man she’d come to love in England.
She saw him in that instant for what he was: a ruthless outlaw against the Crown.
How could she not have known before? All the signs.
.. only she had been too blind and too stupid to recognize them all.
His hair, his dress, his manner—everything about him!
Wide-eyed, Jessie scooted backward across the bed, glaring wrathfully at him, her anger making her bold, despite her fear.
“Of course not,” she taunted, “Hawk! Heaven forbid that you should hear the truth about yourself. Lord knows, I should have listened to my brother! God’s truth, even Lord St. John would have been a better man to love than you! God, I loathe you!”
“Do you?” His expression turned suddenly colder. His eyes glittering, he bent over the bed and said, “Do you truly, ma pauvre petite?”
He reached out, snatching the cloak from her body.
Jessie gasped as he hurled it across the room.
Without warning, he caught her by the leg, jerking her down to the end of the bed, and then he leaned over her fully, trapping her between his arms, beneath him.
He hovered above her, his breath ragged with anger, and his body taut.
Panicked by the savage look in his eyes, she tried to wriggle free; he descended upon her at once, pinning her beneath his weight.
He caught her by the neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, his eyes glittering coldly as he tilted her face to meet his smoldering gaze.
“Do you truly despise me?” he asked softly, menacingly. He didn’t wait for her to respond; his lips descended swiftly—hot, branding, stifling in their intensity. Lord help her, but she couldn’t breathe—she thought she’d suffocate, his kiss was so unrelenting.